Out of Moria

At the Bridge of Khazad-dûm, the Men and Elf have no choice but to turn back and attempt a way around the abyss. The way is dark, and even at the northernmost end, where the chasm finally narrows and they cross, one false move could send them plummeting down to certain death. As Minnwen approaches the edge behind Forvonir, her foot sends a pebble skittering ominously into the darkness ... and they never hear it hit the bottom.

At last, the travellers find themselves once more on a sturdy stone path, enclosed within a long corridor that leads to the last of the great dwarven halls, First Hall. To their great relief and joy, the Eastern Gate stands ahead – majestic in dimensions and in construction, a fresh breeze whispering the promise of the Dimrill Dale beyond!

This prospect is confirmed by a dwarf standing guard at the Gate, warning of Eldar lurking in the trees outside. Minnwen's disdain for this false impression is a little too obvious, but Forvonir, maintaining a calm courtesy, bids the dwarf farewell and leads the company boldly through the Eastern Gate.

As shafts of late afternoon sunlight warm their shoulders, the trio almost cannot believe that they have passed through Moria at long last – and alive! The air about them is fresh and crisp, and a rippling surface extends in the distance, rays dancing upon it like a thousand tiny pinpricks of light.

Their talk turns to the next leg of the journey: Minnwen's errand, and then the Men's destination ...

Minnwen looks gratefully up into the darkening sky. 'And all too soon, dusk descends. Come, my friends, we must find a safe place to rest or continue our travels. I suppose your path to Gondor lies this way? Perhaps your eyes shall be blessed enough to see the Golden Wood, for 'tis there I must take this gem, the greenstone ...'

'Let us find a resting place then. I hope I shall be lucky enough to see your home, and maybe one day, I will be able to show you mine.'

'Alas, my home, Edhellond, is lost to my people. Naught remain there since the last ship sailed, taking lovelorn Amroth – and there lies a sad tale, friends. The Golden Wood is not my home, but I shall be recognised there, I hope, when we reach the borders.'

Forvonir nods. 'It seems all of us loose their home in some way... It is our sad fate we have to face. But at least we have some places where we can return.'

The Elf sighs. 'After my errand is done, I shall go where the Lord and Lady choose. For my people, after all, the only true home is across the Belegaer, the Great Sea. It may be that our paths shall remain entwined if the Lord and Lady of the Golden Wood see fit. For I know Rhovanion of old and would be glad to see it now.'

Forvonir smiles. 'Who knows, maybe we will be able to say farewell then, before you can board your ship to go home. My people have limited time on this earth, but hopefully, there will be a time, when I will no longer need to carry my halberd...' He looks back at his weapon.

Minnwen 's eyes hold briefly a faraway look, at the mention of ship-boarding, but then she smiles gently and a little sadly. 'Ah, but the future ages shall belong to your kind, Forvonir. It may be that Elbereth shall grant you peace in these lands if we are victorious against the Enemy, and your children and grandchildren shall hear you tell the tale yourself of the heroic deeds that your halberd has witnessed.'

Forvonir glances at Harvonir. 'And maybe there will be others who will have the opportunity to be part of my stories, and telling them, when I am gone.'

Minnwen grins at the brothers. 'To Gondor, then, and may the stewards of the future be as wise and great as the kings of the long past, when our peoples were less divided than they are now.'

They descend the grand stairway into the Dimrill Dale, looking back at the breathtaking mountains above Moria – the stern peaks of Caradhras the Redhorn (known to the dwarves as Barazinbar), Celebdil the Silvertine (Zirakzigil) and Fanuidhol the Cloudyhead (Bundushathûr).

Between the peaks cascades a waterfall that is swallowed by the serene sheet of water visible from the Eastern Gate: the Mirrormere. By its shores, the dwarves have established a small camp (Menem-berej). The travellers are told that orcs and goblins have appeared in the Dale and agree to help thin the enemies along their path. They are given leave to roam freely (with a warning from a dwarf not to steal anything – cause for more of the Elf's eyerolling).

From the lake's shore, towards the east in the distance, an odd-shaped monument is visible, and the travellers decide to investigate the structure. Approaching, they find that an orc band has moved to sequester the structure, and they have to slash their way, leaving orc bodies in their wake.

Up close, the stone monument has inscriptions too faded to be read – in any case, runes that none of the party can understand. But Minnwen recalls elven tales from a time when the Naugrim were friends with the Eldar of Eregion – perhaps Durin, the founder of Moria, stood on this very bank and looked towards the mountains. Perhaps in time his brethren would reclaim the Dale for Moria.

#FirstHall #DimrillDale #DurinsStone #Mirrormere #StairFalls #EasternGate